


Road to Endgame

by MissScorp



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Friendship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Loss, Mysticism, Post-Infinity Wars, Pre-endgame, Reclaiming of self, identity crisis, power, vengeance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2020-02-04 17:21:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18609073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissScorp/pseuds/MissScorp
Summary: The world changed with the snap of Thanos's fingers. None of them could go back. The best any of them could do was start over. For Clint Barton that meant remembering who, and what, he is.





	Road to Endgame

**Somewhere USA,** **Present**

An archer's hands should never shake. They needed to remain steady on the bow, tight on the string, confident as they notched the arrow. Yet, there was a discernible tremble in Clint Barton's hands that hadn't been there before.

 _It started with the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D_ , he realized as he relaxed his hold. _And it’s gotten progressively worse since I returned home to finish out my sentence_. Was it any wonder he found himself with a slight tick after everything that happened in the last few years? _S.H.I.E.L.D falling, Ultron, the breakup of the Avengers, and getting incarcerated in The Raft all have taken their toll._

Not that he regretted one bit of what he had done during the Clash of the Avengers. He owed Rogers in his mind. _And_ _I’d do it all again_. Clint let out a breath as he again hoisted the bow and focused on the target fixed to the tree. The tremble returned immediately.

“Dammit!”

The last time he ended up like this came right after he got done having his head screwed back on straight. His guilt over everything Loki made him do while he was under his spell left him with the same shakiness. It hadn’t gone away when he agreed to take a mission for Fury while heading home to Laura and his kids.

" _Cetan_ ," a voice whispered on the back of a soft breeze. “ _You are allowing the iktomi to possess you, twist you, and trick you again_.”

“Knowing the world could be going to shit and not being able to do anything about it is what’s screwing with me.”

“Remember, _Cetan_.” Tendrils of air trailed across his forehead, opening his mind, and bringing forth memories long-buried. " _Remember_ …"

OoOoO

**2012, Before the Battle Of New York**

Fire licked at his insides, scorched his outsides, and stole away every breath he managed to draw in. It felt like he was being systematically tortured. Heat spread across the ridges of his back, over the contours of his abdominal region, across his face, arms, and throat.

For a moment, just one, he imagined himself as the mythological flame bird, the Phoenix.

He anticipated dissolving in a huge ball of fire, only to emerge mere seconds later as a new man, cleansed of all his sins, and freed from the chains that bound him to his hellish existence.

If he was dying, and he imagined he was, then this was his body's way of preparing him for whichever of the nine levels of Hell he was about to get shipped off too. He was one solid wall of  _hurt_. Even the tips of his hair pulsated with pain. And that, he decided, was a whole new sort of fun. Clint tried to find a comfortable position to lay but found no such thing existed. In the quiet of the small room, his breathing was loud and raspy; his entire body shuddered with it. God, he was hot. So, so hot.

He must have fidgeted or made some type of sound because suddenly a cool cloth was laid across his forehead. Clint would have sworn on a stack of Bibles that he heard the thing  _sizzle_. He grunted out a curse and went to tear the offending cloth away when a voice whispered, "stop," and assured him he would, "feel better soon."

He struggled to focus on the face above him. Eyes like melted chocolate gazed at him from a face like bronzed copper. Sculpted cheekbones, an aquiline nose, and full lips were set in a small, round face framed by a wealth of long hair the same glossy shade as a raven's wing. Strands of hair trailed over his face and reminded him of all the times Laura’s dark hair covered his eyes.

_I could really use you now, honey. I'm in a bit of a bad way..._

His fears and worries were forgotten the moment his benefactress stroked a moist rag over his overheated flesh. Clint let out a soft little moan at the momentary relief from the fire trying to consume him. He was further rewarded when a hand cupped his cheek, thumb sweeping gently over his parched flesh.

It reminded him of when he was a kid and how his mom would stroke his face while he was in bed sick with the flu. Then she set a cool rag on his cramping belly and everything he was thinking, feeling at that moment fled his mind faster than roaches when the bug man flipped on the lights.

The woman could be Loki in disguise and he wouldn't give a shit. She offered him relief from his misery. That made her his bestest friend in the whole wide world at that moment. Then the fire returned, raging hotter than before and making him wish that death would come swiftly.

"Let me die," he whispered, and the harsh, choking sound of his voice shocked him. "Just... let me die."

"Shhh," she soothed. "It is not time for you to die, _Cetan_. _Wakan Tanka_ has things in store for a great  _ozuye_  like you."

"Wha-what are you?" He managed around the chattering of his teeth. "A shaman or something?"

" _Heyah_ \- no," she said as he fidgeted. " _Miyelo ca kola._ "

"What’s that mean?"

"I am a friend."

He barked a hoarse laugh as he attempted to push himself up in the makeshift bed. "Lady, I don’t have any friends. Not after what I've done."

"There you are wrong." Her fingers were gentle as they stroked his hair. "You have many friends."

"Bullshit."

She didn't bother to argue with him. No, she simply continued petting him and making low, soothing sounds deep in her throat that slid down to where his nerves were wound tighter than a spring and relaxed them.

"Sleep now," she crooned. "Sleep and forget the troubles that weigh so heavy on your heart and soul."

Clint allowed himself to drift off. And dreamed about a raven and a hawk sitting on what looked like the top of a familiar shield sticking up out of a mound of fresh dirt...

…

He burned for three days and three nights. The few times he managed to work his way towards a state of consciousness, it was to the sound of something being rattled. At first, he thought it was a rattlesnake, coiled and readying itself to strike. He reached for the hunting knife he always stuck beneath his pillow before going to sleep but stopped when a soft chanting rose above the  _chaka shaka chaka_ emanating from the rattler. The words didn't make a bit of sense to him, but the warm cadence of her voice washed over him, flooded into him, bringing comfort to his tortured mind and body.

The storm raging inside him quieted and Clint drifted peacefully on a wave of nothingness. It felt like pillowy hands cradled his body, soothing the aches and pains ransacking his body and stemmed the flow of lava in his veins. He thought he heard the distinctive screech of a hawk. He shook himself, grunted a laugh at his absurdity.

_Hearing things, Barton. Next thing you'll swear you're seeing hawks flying around the ceiling._

Just the mere thought of that had him levering open his feverish eyes long enough to evaluate himself and his surroundings. He was lying on his back in a soft bed. The ceiling depicted the sky at dawn. He vaguely recalled area being near that of Devil’s Tower in northeastern Wyoming. A red-tailed hawk soared over the plains. Clint swore he heard another piercing cry but chalked it up to his brain melting.

"Lemme die," he groaned as his belly pitched and rolled. "Just lemme die."

" _Heyah, Cetan_.” Her voice found the places inside him that weren't all that pretty, and with every gentle word, fixed them. "It is not time for you to die."

"Who are you?" he rasped. "What are you?"

"I am a _kola_ ," she told him again. "I am a friend."

"Yeah?" That he could even snark as he lay dying amazed him. "Names are for friends and I don't have any."

" _Micaje kagi taka_."

He let out a soft chuckle. "Gonna have to get you to write that one down."

"Raven," she told him as she stroked one elegant finger over his cheek. "Just remember my name is Raven, _Cetan_. Now, sleep."

The world went dark before she even finished speaking.

…

 “Why do you call me  _Cetan_?" Clint asked the next time he awoke. "What does it mean?"

"You are the one Coulson calls Hawkeye, are you not?" she questioned as she wiped his brow with a damp sponge. When he merely grunted in response, she smiled. "In Lakota, _Cetan_ is known as the hawk spirit. So," she said with a delicate shrug of her shoulders. "I call you the Hawk."

"Hawk spirit?" Clint snorted and pushed himself up in the bed with only moderate difficulty. "I'm not a spirit, Raven."

"No," she agreed with a slight shake of her head. "You are not a spirit. I think you are a lost  _ozuye_."

One eyebrow lifted. "You think I'm a lost what's it?"

"A lost warrior.” Raven settled a tray across his lap with a fragrant bowl of soup wafting up to tease his nostrils. His belly growled noisily even as his mouth watered. For a man who lived on rations the majority of the time, anything home cooked was a rare and savored treat. "And yes, I do think that you are one."

"Why do you think I am this hawk spirit?"

"The Hawk is renowned for his prowess as a hunter. His eyesight is far superior to that of humans and allows him to search out his prey even in the smallest of crevices."

Same as him. His professionalism and loyalty to his teammates made him standout.  _No more_ , he thought with a faint trace of the bitterness biting at his heart and festering in his soul.  _I lost all that when Loki possessed my mind and commanded I turn upon my friends and teammates_.

"That may be.” He stirred the thick soup with his spoon. "But I don't see why you think that I am some hawk spirit."

"The Lakota see  _Cetan_  as both the Guardian as well as the Protector of the Earth Mother and all of her children. He is the warrior that protects the people from evil spirits."

"I'm not a warrior."

Not anymore, anyway. Once he got home to Laura and the kids, he planned to stay there.

“No?”

“No.”

“I think you are wrong.”

“Do you?” He spooned up some soup and almost wept at how good it tasted. “And why’s that?”

"Because according to Iroquois legend, the Hawk, who goes by the name _Thunderer_ , is armed with a mighty bow from which he shoots flaming arrows." A pause. And then Clint watched as those glossy eyes shifted towards the chair beside the bed. One dark brow arched derisively. "Correct me if I am wrong, _Cetan_ , but I do believe that bow and quiver mark  _you_  as an archer."

"I might be an archer," Clint stated in a voice so low that Raven had to lean close to hear him speak, "but I lost the right to calling myself the Hawk when I turned my back on my friends and teammates."

Only silently did he add,  _and put arrows in them_.

"You were not _Cetan_ then.”

“I wasn’t?”

“No.” She folded her arms across her chest. "You were possessed by  _iktomi_ , the trickster and made to do his bidding. You cannot be held to blame for things that are  _wo-wakan_  in nature."

"Wo-what'sin?"

"Supernatural."

"Ah."

Raven lips curved gently as she spied the disbelieving look upon his face. "You were and still are _Cetan_ , Mr. Barton."

Clint pondered that for a moment. It was that he believed himself worthy of calling any type of divine spirit or a great warrior. No more than he believed himself still worthy of calling himself an Avenger. After what he had done? He didn't deserve to call himself anything other than...  _traitor_.

He glanced over at the quiver of arrows and curved bow she'd set in the chair beside the bed. Was he still the Hawk? Or had he lost all rights to the name? To what had been his identity for as long as he could remember? Raven must have sensed his thoughts because she set one of those small hands with those quick, clever fingers on his shoulder and squeezed gently.

"Eat," she suggested. "You need to rebuild your strength. Once you’ve recovered, you can go out on a spirit quest, and rediscover for yourself whether the Hawk still flies or not."

Clint complied. Aside from anything else, the soup was the most delicious thing he'd eaten in months, and he was hungry enough to eat an elephant.

…

 He was packing his gear fourteen mornings later when Raven came into the bedroom and handed him something wrapped in rawhide. It was clothing of some type from what he could tell. And leather from the buttery feel and smell.

"What's this?" he asked as he took it from her.

"It’s just something to remember me by."

Clint turned his head to look at her. Raven wasn't the most gorgeous woman he'd ever met.  _Beautiful_  simply wasn't a good enough word to describe her. It was far too soft and only covered a physical characteristic. This woman went far beyond a general description. The flashiest of women paled in comparison to this one. And that, Clint realized as he set her gift in his bag, was because they lacked her warm heart and generous soul.

"I won't ever forget you, Raven," he told her honestly. "Or all you have done for me. I'd have died if you hadn't found me and brought me into your home."

"Helping a man sick with fever requires no thanks."

 _Yes, this is a very good woman_ , Clint thought as he zipped his bag. One who understands what honor and loyalty mean.  _Even knowing what I did she still believes in me, still considers me an ally, as the Hawk_. Clint didn't know if that was because she was just that naïve or simply hadn't acquired the same jaded worldview as other S.H.I.E.L.D operatives.

She reminded him of Rogers. Both saw the world as full of good, decent people.  _I hope neither of you ever lose that ability_. He slung his quiver of arrows on his back before he grabbed his bow and his bag and turned to walk from the bedroom.

He saw little things as he passed through the house that told him much about the woman who had taken care of him for the last couple of weeks. There were bookshelves loaded with books and knickknacks along one wall in the front room. Family photographs lined the front entry hall. Spears, shields, arrowheads and other artifacts were on display in curio cabinets all around the room. It all reminded Clint of the woman herself:  _eclectic_. He smiled as he opened the front door and stepped out into the cool morning air.

"Are you sure you are ready to leave?" she asked as she stepped out beside him. "You are welcome to stay for as long as you'd like."

Clint glanced at her. "I have red in my ledger that could spill out onto you, Raven."

"I am not afraid of the red in your ledger, _Cetan_."

"You should be."

"Is she afraid of the red in your ledger?"

Clint followed her gaze and saw Tasha in the driver's seat of an SUV. Whatever poor individual likely wasn’t happy to find their vehicle gone.

"Tasha isn't afraid of much," he finally told her. “Especially red in a ledger.”

"Neither am I, Cetan."

No, he could see that. "Take care of yourself, Raven," he said as he stepped off the porch.

" _Toksha ake wacinyuanktin ktelo, Cetan_ ," she replied quietly. "And remember that you have a _kola_ here should you ever find yourself feeling lost and alone."

"I will keep that in mind," Clint said as he walked around the SUV. He was reaching for the rear door handle when he heard the flapping of wings. He glanced up and found himself eye to eye with a large brown bird with a cream underbelly, and eyes that seemed to peer all the way into his soul.

" _Chwirk_?” The bird cocked his head to the side. " _Chwirk_?”

"Yeah," Clint said as he opened the door and set his stuff inside. "I get it. I'm _Cetan_."

" _Kee-ee-aee_ ," it shrieked before it spread its huge wings and took flight. " _Kee-ee-aee!_ "

Clint watched the hawk circle overhead, feeling his blood pump with a hunger to go out and hunt some sort of prey.  _I'll live up to my totem_ , he vowed silently as he hopped into the passenger seat.

_I'll go out and protect the innocent._

_Just like Cetan._

OoOoO

 _“The Hawk still flies,”_ she said as the memory faded _. “He is you. He will always be you. You are the protector of the People. And they need you now more than ever.”_

He hadn’t put much stock in Raven’s supernatural mumbo jumbo. Not because he didn’t think it had any meaning or bearing, but more because he couldn’t see himself as some type of divine hawk spirit. He wasn't some great warrior of the People. He was just some shmuck capable of firing a bow and arrow better than the other shmucks out there.

It wasn’t until he went back to rescue the boy, Costel, that he finally started to believe he might be the great hawk spirit she claimed he was. _I need to become the Hawk again. He’s who the world needs now. He’s who will avenge all those who turned into dust with that snap._

Like Laura and their kids.

His fingers tightened on his bow. Grief clouded his vision. Helpless rage simmered in his soul. One moment they were a happy family, planning a big vacation once his house arrest was up, and the next they were fading away into nothingness. What happened? Why? He didn’t know. Clint planned to find out, though.

 _And I will make whoever is responsible pay_.

The flapping of wings broke him from his dark thoughts. He glanced up and found himself eye to eye with a large brown bird with a cream underbelly, and eyes that managed to peer all the way into his soul. For one ridiculous moment, he allowed himself to believe Raven morphed herself into this majestic bird just so she could remind him he was _Cetan_.

“ _Chwirk_?”

“You telling me my aim sucks?” He snorted a laugh. “Yeah, well, watching your family turn into dust right before your eyes does something to your skills.”

" _Chwirk_.” The bird cocked its head. “ _Chwirk_.”

“Look.” He stuck his unused arrow back in his quiver. “I can’t even shoot myself in the foot at the moment. What good am I to the world?”

" _Chwirk_.” The hawk puffed out its chest and fluttered its feathers. Clint took it as the bird telling him to get his head outta his ass. " _Chwirk_."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Remember I’m the hawk spirit. Not that easy.”

The hawk ruffled its neck feathers. " _Chw-cheirk_."

"You can keep saying it," he told the bird with a smirk. "That doesn't mean I’m gonna suddenly start believing it.”

The bird fluttered its wings, clearly agitated with him. Then it dropped to the ground and pranced over to an arrow that Clint hadn't noticed lying on the ground. It tapped the strange arrow with one talon.

" _Chwirk_ ," it screeched while staring at him. " _Chwirk_."

Clint picked the arrow up and studied it with a critical eye. It wasn’t his normal type of arrow. It wasn’t a trick arrow. It didn’t have a special arrowhead. Whoever had fashioned it was a true craftsman. A combination of ash and some type of bone he decided he didn't want or need to identify had been used to craft it.

The self-tipped blunt arrowhead was also heavier than his smaller, lighter ones. A plume of feathers the same shade as the feathers of the hawk were fixed to the end quills. In short, he realized the arrow was well crafted, quite old, and a gift from a woman who made mysterious a game Tasha be proud of.

"So..." he said as his fingers traced over the arrow's smooth shaft. "You want me to use this one, huh?"

" _Kee-ee-aee_ ," it shrieked before it spread its huge wings and soared up into the air. " _Kee-ee-aee_!"

Clint watched the hawk circle overhead, feeling his blood pump, and his heart pound with that familiar exhilaration. In his belly churned that hunger of a predator about to take down his prey. 

_I'm Cetan._

He notched the strange arrow and slowly drew the bow-string back. 

 _I'm the Hawk Spirit_.

He felt his usual calmness settle over him.

 _I'm the Thunderer armed with a mighty bow from which he shoots flaming arrows_.

He drew in a breath, held it as he took aim at the target.

 _I’m the Protector of the People_.

Power pulsed, rippled along his quivering arm and poured into his hands. His fingers trembled, once, then became steady as a rock.

" _Kee-ee-aee_!"

And the Hawk let his spirit arrow fly.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, all, and welcome! Okay, so I wrote this piece a long time ago for someone who liked Clint Barton. I never posted the pieces on A03 (I don't think) and took them off FFN for personal reasons. Re-reading them a few days ago reminded me of how much I liked them so I decided to modernize them a little and repost as a one-shot that is sorta before the events of Endgame. For those who haven't seen the movie, and don't want to have any of it spoiled, there is a mild spoiler involved in regards to Barton and his family. So proceed forward at your own risk heh 
> 
> Standard disclaimers apply... I own nothing but what is my own. The House of Mouse owns the rest heh
> 
> Please, if you like this piece, kudo/bookmark it. And feel free to comment below! 
> 
> This is a glossary of Lakota words I used in the piece:
> 
> Cetan: Hawk spirit
> 
> Wakan Tanka: Great Spirit
> 
> Ozuye: warrior
> 
> Heyah: no
> 
> Miyelo ca kola: I am friend
> 
> Kola: friend
> 
> Micaje kagi taka: My name is Raven
> 
> Iktomi: trickster
> 
> Wo-wakan: supernatural
> 
> Toksha ake wacinyuanktin ktelo: I will see you soon


End file.
